Chapter 3
Hilda Barry stood in front of the gilt-edged mirror, slowly stroking her long, straight hair. Occasionally, she would cast a glance past her own image to look at the Colonel, who was seated on the edge of the bed, dressed only in his shorts. He was looking at his middle-aged housekeeper with a look of mild admiration.
"You know," Hilda said over her shoulder, "I used to be a rather attractive woman, but I'm afraid a lot of me has sagged out of place." She grinned weakly.
"I like you the way you are."
"Oh, Haskell, you're just a big fibber. You know why you come to see me every so often."
The Colonel rarely allowed anyone to call him by his first name, but because he and his housekeeper had come into more than a casual friendship in her bed, he had given her the liberty to call him Haskell. He did not like it, yet he realized he had to concede her the privilege under the circumstances.
"Yes, I suppose you're right," he said. "But, of course, you derive some enjoyment from our relationship as well."
"True." She turned abruptly and faced him. She was wearing a simple cotton nightgown with nothing underneath. "I didn't say I objected."
"Come here."
Obediently, Hilda moved to a position directly in front of the Colonel. She stood straight and erect, arms at her sides, as though undergoing inspection. Although she had been giving him her body for the past several years, she fully realized her position as an employee. Obedience had been hammered into her the same as the others.
He glanced down at his watch, then up at her. "We'd better get on with it," he said. "The others will be here in less than an hour."
"Yes, of course." She reached down and picked up the hem of her nightgown and drew it up over her body, a body that was plum and full with huge, sagging breasts. A massive patch of black hair sprouted from between her legs.
Stiffly, the Colonel rose from his seated position. Without glancing at her, he slipped his shorts down over his legs. He walked to a nearby chair and laid them neatly atop his other clothing, then came back to the bed where Hilda was already waiting for him, on her back and with her legs spread. Her legs looked puffy and streaked with blue veins.
Hilda looked up at him. The Colonel's eyes went to her belly, with its thick roll of flab and its oversized navel, and then his gaze moved downward to her carpet-like thatch of black hair. The hair was thick and wiry, with here and there an occasional hint of gray. A gaping reddish-purple slash separated the gristle-like lips.
He moved to the head of the bed, his stiff little prick standing out from his body like an errant dart. He took hold of it and pointed it at Hilda's face. "We'll have a little of this first today," he said.
She reached up and took hold of his balls, a tiny sack that had drawn up tight against the base of his small prick. Her grasp was gentle as she drew him closer. He breathed heavily as she reached up with her other hand and took hold of his little rooster pecker. He closed his eyes when she brought her mouth to the dribbling glands; when he opened them a moment later, he looked down to see his entire cock buried in her sucking lips.
She was good at it. Her expert tongue sought out the narrow moat beneath his glands. She washed over the head, bringing her tongue up and over the scarlet knob so that it glistened with spittle when she took it away a few moments later.
"Is that enough?" she asked.
He simply stared as she rose half-way up and brought her mammoth breasts to his loins and squeezed the soft flesh around his cock, engulfing it completely.
"Someday I would like you to do it to me this way," she said. She moved her chest up and down to make his cock slide back and forth in the deep ravine.
"Yes, perhaps next time," he said. There was no emotion in his voice. Although he had started breathing heavily, he had a mastery over himself as he seemed to have over everyone else. A show of emotion, in his mind, would be a sign of weakness.
He put his hands on her shoulders and eased her down onto the bed. In a mechanical motion, he was atop her, his prick sliding easily into the rich, drape-like labia. He rammed all the way forward, and he felt his glands mash against the thick carpet of her cunt. The lips were spread so that a portion of his scrotal sack was virtually sucked into her yawning pit of her aging love cathedral.
"Oh, Haskell, you can't realize how much this means to me," she sighed, puffing and grunting as she tried to move her oversize hips up and down with his movements.
He lay like a twig between two massive branches, working himself up and down between the mounds of heavy flesh, stabbing vigorously, then slowing slightly to catch his breath.
"It is a need, my dear Hilda, over which mortal man often loses control. A satisfying of the flesh. Nature demands it, lest we all become frustrated neurotics."
"But you must enjoy it, don't you?"
"Yes, of course. It is very pleasurable."
"Then, why don't you act like it?" she asked, sounding slightly irritated. She was beginning to writhe and move about on the bed, searching for a passion that was almost lost to her. She grimaced as she directed all her attention to her loins. Slowly, her vaginal looseness was not as great. She had tightened the sphincter that surrounded her opening, the gates to the temple, and tight muscles were kneading his thrusting cock. He felt her squeezing him passionately, almost crushing his prick with her muscular power. She seemed to be milking him, trying to force out the hot gooeyness that would add to fast-fading passion. She added words to further excite herself. And him, too.
"Yes, Haskell ... that's the way. Oh, yes. Fuck me real good. Ooooh, yes-ss ... "
They came together. For him, it was an organized, expected end to a physical effort. For her, it was a way of reaching back into her youth in a whimpering outburst of moans and hisses. The Colonel felt her pull him against her, and he tightened his hold on the sweating hulk of her mammoth tits, perhaps fearing that his entire body might be sucked into her great, sloshy cunt. Their climax, although not as violent as it might have been years before, was still a fulfilling, pleasurable experience for both of them.
They dressed, and when they parted it was more like a doctor leaving the room of a patient than the parting of lovers.
Working on rose bushes was not Jeff's idea of how to start out a perfectly good Sunday. If only they weren't so closely tied to Maria's father and those boring Sunday dinners with the equally boring speeches afterward. Maybe if they could get away from the old man, Maria might warm up a little.
She had been the only girl in the family, and cute. Had been ever since she was a little child. Her mother tried to stop her father from showering so much attention on her or being so overly protective, but he had done exactly what he pleased. In the end, he had raised a spoiled child-in love with herself.
That is the way Jeff looked at it.
He had just finished his chores with Maria's precious rose bushes when she came out the door.
"You'd better go and get dressed," she called. "Arthur and Sue will be coming by for us soon."
He was dressed and standing at the front door when Sue Drake drove up. She had her son, Steve, with her.
Jeff strode over to the car. "Maria will be ready in a few minutes," he told Sue. He grinned at Steve and rumpled his hair. "Hi, big shot."
The boy grinned back. Three of his front teeth were missing.
Steve rushed off and Sue came out of the car and sat down on a lawn chair, crossing her hands in her lap. She had beautiful hands. Like her face, they always seemed to be composed. She was a small woman with finely molded features. Jeff could not remember ever having seen her upset or even mildly temperamental. Several times, though, he had glimpsed the shadow of hurt in her eyes. He had always wondered if she was really happy with Arthur. She had married Arthur seven years before, when she had been nineteen. Jeff enjoyed talking to her. He also enjoyed dancing with her. The last time he had danced with her had been at the club. He had been aware of her warm body against his, the gentle nudge of her hips, the hard pressure of her breasts against his chest. At the end of the dance, both had been aware of a vague, drifting chemistry that had crept between them.
"Where's Arthur?" Jeff asked. Arthur insisted everyone call him by his full first name. He detested Art or Arty.
"He'll be along later. He had business to take care of at the office." As she spoke, she stared at her hands, which had begun a light wrestling match between themselves.
"Sue, let me ask you something," he said on impulse. "Did you ever really find a place in this family?"
She shrugged, tried to give the impression of indifference. "You don't like Arthur, do you?"
He was honest with her. "No, I've tried to, but he's so damned suspicious of everything I do."
"He's a frightened man, Jeff."
"Frightened? What the hell's he got to be frightened about? He's the boss's son, isn't he? That should be security enough for anybody."
"That's his trouble. He's trying to meet standards the Colonel sets. He's limited, as you know. He's afraid that you can do better than he can."
"I never thought of that."
"I think they're all scared-Arthur, Maria and Tommy. They're all afraid of the Colonel. They're afraid that they might displease him in some way. The Colonel is a cold and demanding man, Jeff. You know that. I don't understand him. I don't pretend to."
"He's a hard cat to understand, I'll say that."
"I admit that it takes an effort to understand this whole family. Did you know the Colonel was an orphan? He grew up without affection and he never learned to give it. Maria and Arthur had no affection from him certainly. The entire family is afraid to give out with their emotions-afraid that if they opened up, they might be hurt. They can't stand to have their armor dented."
Jeff wanted to pursue the subject, but Maria appeared in the doorway. She was wearing a soft, green dress of linen. She looked as lovely as the morning. Sue ran admiring eyes over her.
"How does she do it, Jeff?" Sue asked.
"Born that way, I guess."
Colonel Drake looked into the kitchen, then frowned. "Don't overcook the roast today, Mrs. Barry. Sometimes you don't seem to watch it closely enough." The man of iron who had so recently been a man of flesh and blood was once again his old self-a stiff, unyielding marionette.
Mrs. Barry turned a flushed face toward him. "Yes, sir. I'll watch it very carefully," she said sharply.
The Colonel backed quickly out of the kitchen. He did not want to antagonize Hilda. Good housekeepers were hard to find.
Wandering aimlessly about the house, he repeatedly glanced at his watch. His offspring never arrived before the exact minute. And they always left as quickly as possible. He was never comfortable with his children-or with Jeff and Sue, for that matter. If he did not lead and force the conversation, there was always an awkward silence.
His thoughts sent a surge of anger through him. He had done everything he could for his children. And none of them displayed any real appreciation, any genuine affection for him. His eyes ran over the familiar furniture that he and his wife had shared so long ago. He wondered fleetingly whether it might not have been wiser if he had moved from this house.
A car stopped in front. He looked at his watch. Five minutes to one. They cut it as close as they can, he thought. He was frowning as he opened the front door, but frowning for him had become almost a permanent fixture.
As he ushered Sue into the dining room, the old man spoke roughly. "Why isn't Arthur here? I want to talk to him."
"He'll be along later," Sue said. "He had some business to take care of."
The Colonel replied with a grunt.
They all sat down at the table. Mrs. Barry served the meal.
Tommy, coming into the room, pulled his chair away from the table, then threw one of his long legs over the chair's back as he sat down. He was seventeen. The kid stunt did not amuse the Colonel. "Tommy," the old man rasped, "you stand up and then sit down in the proper manner-like a gentleman."
Tommy's face turned sullen. He nodded obediently.
After the meal, which did not pass without mishap-Steve spilled a glass of milk-Jeff took Steve outside to play catch with him.
Jeff tossed the lad a half-dozen underhand pitches, slowly and carefully.
Then Tommy came out of nowhere and speared one of Steve's return throws.
"Let me throw him one," Tommy said.
There was a queerly malicious look on Tommy's face as he flipped the ball at the boy. His throw was much too hard, even for someone more competent than little Steve. The ball hit him in the chest and knocked him on his back.
Jeff raced to the side of the fallen youngster and lifted him up to a sitting position. He massaged the bruised spot. Steve kept gasping. "It doesn't hurt, Uncle Jeff. Not much."
Satisfied that the boy was not hurt, Jeff straightened up and faced Tommy.
Tommy grinned at him. "Your coaching didn't help much."
Jeff strode toward the smirking youth. He seized Tommy by the shoulders. "You took out your anger on him, didn't you?"
Jeff shook the boy with all the strength at his command. Tommy's fingers pried vainly at Jeff's hands.
Jeff was still shaking Tommy when Arthur drove up in his new Jaguar. He looked at the other two and jumped out of the car, yelling, "What the hell's going on here?"
He ran toward them and grabbed Jeff by the shoulder and spun him around. "What do you think you're doing?"
Jeff's anger made his voice thick. "He deliberately knocked little Steve down with the ball."
"I didn't," Tommy yelled. "I just threw him one. He just doesn't know how to catch."
Arthur looked at his son. "Get up. And quit that sniveling." His eyes cold, he turned back to Jeff. "I don't want you or anybody else coddling my son."
"You stupid bastard!" Jeff raged. "Tommy threw one that could have really hurt the boy."
Arthur's face turned a mottled red. He suddenly took a threatening step toward Jeff.
Jeff's arm was cocked back when the Colonel appeared on the porch. "Have you two gone crazy? Of all the disgraceful exhibitions!" Maria and Sue rushed outside. Maria's face wore an expression of outrage.
"Jeff," Maria called. "Where are you going?"
"Home," he shot over his shoulder. "And I'm walking." He heard Tommy laugh. It added a few degrees to Jeff's temperature.
Tommy, the youngest of the Drake clan, was a paradox in himself. At home, he clung tenaciously to the standards his father set, kept his room immaculate, and obeyed every command. Occasionally, when he went to visit Jeff and Maria, he did a complete reversal, strewing his clothes about, failing to keep himself clean and, generally, being as rude as he could. Under those circumstances, he created a feeling of animosity between himself and Jeff. It was too bad. Jeff thought he could learn to like the kid, but it was becoming more obvious every day that the Colonel had already started the slow drain of poison into the lad.
Jeff fully expected someone from the Drake house to overtake him and offer him a ride home, but it didn't happen. He walked the entire three miles. Later that evening, he and Maria had a violent argument over the baseball-throwing affair.
"I know what you were trying to do," she had cried. "You were trying to impress her." She meant Sue and she made the word "her" sound like a dirty word.
In his effort to make her listen to him, he had pinned her against the wall. She had broken away from him and run to her room. Talking to an unresponsive door was the most unsatisfactory thing a man could do. Retiring to his own room in defeat, he had brooded over this new, disturbing trait in Maria. Yet, he had to concede that there was more between Sue and himself than merely being married into the same family. Perhaps Mar-la had seen something in his eyes that gave him away. And that thought in itself startled him, for he had never really thought about Sue as much more than a good friend, perhaps a little over affectionate at times, but a friend only. Sex certainly had never entered his mind when he was near her.
Or had it?